Out of the way

Maraña is where I go to disconnect, relax, and enjoy myself. The fiesta of the village (15th August, fiesta de Nuestra Señora la Virgen de Riosol) is a time when lots of people come, and the place is alive with people and activity. In winter it is different - almost empty, only the hard-core residents brave the snow. But still the bread man comes, and the fruit man, and the butcher and so on.

The village is changing. When we were there for the fiesta this year, they installed a Wifi network for the first time. The coverage is still minimal, and the connection rate dismal, but it is possible to use the internet in Maraña. And I am told that now they have even connected the antenna so that there is mobile coverage - something that people wanted, but another link that binds me to the world of work even there. Fortunately, I can still turn my phone off

From Maraña, I went to South Africa on Opera's biggest University Tour yet. You can read about the basics of what we did on the University Tours blog, where I also posted some first impressions.

South Africa is an interesting place - the second country I have visited in Africa. Most people say that it is not real Africa, any more than Morocco (the onther one I have been to), and to some extent perhaps that is true. It has bits of Africa in it, and it has bits of Europe. It has bits of the old South Africa, and some shining new South Africa.

While there I bought and read (having had it recommended even by the guy who had only read 15 books in 10 years) Alan Paton's classic Cry, the Beloved Country. It's a novel, published 60 years ago and set in the South Africa of the day. 20 years ago a friend of mine dismissed it for it's writing style, which he described as pompous. It reminded me a little of Kipling, of a story-telling style that relies on repetition and a certain formality as a device to make it stick. It didn't seem pompous so much as intensely human, in the sometimes slightly awkward, slightly overwhelmed and difficult way of its ageing protagonist. I wish I had read it when first I planned to. But perhaps it is better this way. Nelson Mandela was then still prisoner 46664, South Africa was reeling from violence and the upsurge of its people, and the laws against interracial relations were not long repealed.

Sadly, I recognised some of the story today - the violence, the townships, the siege mentality of some people, the huge gulf between black and white. But I also recognised some other things - the optimism of others, the love of South Africa, daring to dream of a better future for a country that has a lot of work to do before they get there, but a lot of wealth (material and spiritual) that could be applied to the journey.

The country is beautiful. There are people living in mortal fear, who wont go outside because of the violence, and cities where the richest people are those who build high walls topped with broken glass and sell electrified fences and razor wire in huge coils to put on top of them. But there are girls walking home in many of those places. There are, it is true, people being mugged, raped and murdered - but mostly in the townships, in places where there are many people and little razor wire. And yet I felt that all the protection was really just a mental prison made concrete (and steel and glass). Walking through the streets (in the "nice parts of town") was like walking through any almost deserted suburb in the world, with all the people safely esconced inside. Driving through the downtown area they told us not to go to was like driving in any chaotic and crowded downtown (although it was daytime, which is generally far safer).

The great things were wonderful. A game reserve trying to conserve more of the amazing wildlife, universities filled with bright eager kids whose grandparents never had an opportunity to go to such a place, traditions of many kinds mingling and merging. In some places there is a clear feeling that while the new South Africa might take some time fulfilling its promise, it is something to look forward to.

The sad things were the hold that a legacy of years of huge difference has on a people. It will take generations to provide the kind of meritocratic society I take for granted, where nearly all the brightest and hardest-working kids have a real hope of sharing in the best that there is, where people are not divided in their work, study, and play by the colour of their skin but solely by their real interests, and where the glaring divides and the lack of hope lead to outrageously unsafe areas, to violence and crime and people who think their lives can't get worse finding new and more depressing ways to spread their gloom and desperation to others. And it will take more lowering of the barriers that are erected in fear to make that happen, more people discovering that while there is robbery and violence the world over, they need not retreat from living in a vain attempt to save themselves.

But it seems that it will happen. South Africa is not a miracle (although Mandela seems to be that most miraculous of things, a true statesman in all the noblest traditions), it is a country finding its way after some huge changes. It is no longer the isolated pariah state, wondering why the hypocritical nations of the world (that would be, oh, all of them) deride it for its treatment of its own people, it is a society coming to grips with myriad problems, and looking for a reasonable way forward.

So cheer up, the beloved country. Look around not at the houses with no water and no electricity, but at the bounty of the land that can provide for all, and at the people of spirit, energy and a desire to make things work, to improve themselves and the lives of those around. And be proud of what good has been done, then go and do some more.